


Just One Second

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, I'll add more as I go, M/M, fistfights, flangst, john plays hockey, this is going to be a hell of a ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 22:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10795680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It takes one comment and one fluid motion for Alexander to go from sitting on the ground cross-legged, during lunch, to up against a wall by the shirt, dodging someone's fist. Of course, said asshole knew what he was doing, and Alex, having lost the fight and barely conscious, is dragged off by three others who he finds out are technically the school delinquents. And from there, it only goes downward, and suddenly everyone is in deeper shit than they started.





	Just One Second

A wall of people, most either cheering or chanting. Two boys stand on opposite sides of it, glaring with an intensity that could kill. One bleeding, one bruising. How did they get here? First it was just a quiet confrontation in front of the media center. 

"Where ya from, kid?" The tone wasn't pleasant, neither was the source. Someone stood over him, arm supporting him on the brick wall beside him, an arrogant smirk plastered on his face. He'd seen the look, the asshole probably thought he owned the place.

"The hell kind of a question is that?" He retorted immediately. He'd almost say he regretted his tone, but really? Look who he was talking to.

"Thomas Jefferson," the boy introduced himself, holding out his hand, "answer the damn question, Hamilton."

"If you know my name, isn't that enough for you? You can't just-.." And then he was being pulled up by the shirt collar, Jefferson's face dangerously close to his. Alexander's eyes traveled up the boy's deep magenta sleeve. Who wears shit like this? It's the 21st century.

"Oh, yes I can, darlin'. Now, I said, where are you from?" Alex wasn't fond of the boy's deep southern drawl, his blood was beginning to boil already. Bad idea, bad idea. 

Alexander mumbled something, kicked Jefferson off him, then stepped back. He knew what was coming. Quickly side-ducking a flash of magenta and skin, Alex took the opportunity to drive his shoulder into the boy's stomach, successfully driving him to the ground. 

Unfortunately for him, however, he lost his balance and ended up rolling onto the grass next to Jefferson, and the latter was able to recover faster, pinning him down by the throat.

Alex barely noticed the crowd that was gathering, yelling, pitying him. No. He'd take no pity. Why would he need it?

"Aw, are you really gonna make me d-" Alex's fist shot straight up, nailing Jefferson in the mouth, which effectively split his lip (and shut him up). Thomas let go of Alexander's throat with that, spitting blood while they both got up. 

A wall of people. No escape. 

A sudden kick in the side brought him out ofhis daze, the side of his head colliding with the bricks of the media center. He could feel the skin scraping off, the blood beginning to emerge. And then Jefferson was down with a swift kick to the back of his knees, a hand grabbing his hair and shoving him to the side. 

Alexander's vision was blurry as another pair of arms encircled him and whisked him away, the sea of people parting like his carrier was a god. Possibly.

"Don't you dare black out, kid, you gotta stay awake," a faint, deep voice commanded him. He didn't know where he was, only that it was cooler than outside. Alex's left eye was stinging, it was squeezed shut. He could smell blood, too, but his brain wouldn't connect the dots.

"Put him down here, no one's gonna come lookin' in here for us." A slightly lighter voice, with an accent he couldn't quite place. 

Alex's vision cleared for a moment, and the first thing he noticed were the paint cans. Loading dock, arts building. The set junk room. He focused on the figure shutting the door, the source of the last voice. Just their backside, but only for a moment. The boy turned around, meeting Alex with startlingly bright blue-green eyes. His skin was tanner than Alexander's, curly hair pulled back messily into a ponytail, but he was focused on the amount of freckles that covered the boy's face and arms. 

The one who took Jefferson down in one fluid move. Holy fucking shit.

"Hey, you good? Wait, that was a stupid thing to say. Don't zone on us, kid, stay with me." The same voice that'd told him not to pass out, the one who'd carried him away from Jefferson was waving a hand in front of his face.

Dark skin, short, coiled black hair that was slightly visible over the top of a headband he wore wrapped around his head, and a deeply concerned expression. 

"I- Yeah, I'm.. fine," Alex choked out eventually, flustered by the intense stares of the two boys in front of him.

"You don't look or sound fine, y'know. Herc, you got the-" 

"Yeah, I got the stuff. Who do you think I am?"

All poor Alexander could do was glance blankly between the two in front of him as the broad-shouldered, headbanded one—Herc?—pulled some sort of first-aid kit out of his bag and fumbled with it. 

A moment later he felt a stinging sensation on his forehead and temple. Alcohol swabs. Freckles was still staring intently at him, and Alex was getting more and more flustered by the second. The boy tilted his head, clicked his tongue, then swiftly turned to the one who was cleaning the scrape on his head, which was still gently seeping blood. 

"His pupils are really dilated, he's super out-of-it. Think he's got at least a minor concussion," he mumbled. 

"Jesus, that fast?" Headband replied, just finishing up with a large bandaid that covered the scrape on Alex's head.

"Uh, sorry to jump in, but why are you doing this? And who are you? And why didn't you take me to the clinic or something?" Alexander glanced back and forth between them again, and it was Freckles who answered him.

"Alright, slow down there. I'ma answer those in a sec, just wait."

Whatever they were waiting for didn't take long, because hardly 30 seconds of awkward silence later, the door to the junk room slammed open, and a lanky boy entered, visibly disheveled. 

"I came as soon as I heard," the boy exclaimed with a thick French accent, shutting the door gently behind him. Alex would've thought he was faking the accent, but nothing about his tone or expression had seemed joking. 

"Chill, Laf, you're gonna scare him," Freckles mumbled as the French boy immediately cupped his cheeks in both hands.

"Mon ami, what happened? I heard from Thomas that you two fought, but aren't you a new student? Alexander Hamilton, oui?" The boy spoke a mile a minute, and that was hardly an exaggeration. Alex suppressed a laugh at that, just nodding that he was alright.

"Good, good! I am Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, but my friends just call me Lafayette," he continued with a flourish. Alex's little smile widened as he nodded again.

"Alright," Freckles spoke again, "my turn. John Laurens, local angel. Brought you here because we're all avoiding trouble and you're not being interrogated. I'm the one who decided to save your ass from Jefferson, by the way. You can thank me later," he winked, to which Alex raised an eyebrow, something exploding in his mind.

"You're no fuckin' angel, oh my God. He has a tendency to try and fight anything that moves, actually. Swear, this knucklehead is the reason the three of us are avoided. Yours is the first fight this week that hasn't been started by or involved him. Anyways, I'm Hercules Mulligan, and I'm stuck parenting these big babies," Headband added. Alex sat up a little straighter.

"Alright, recap. John Laurens," the freckled boy grinned crookedly at his name, nodding slightly, "Hercules Mulligan," he shot Alex a thumbs up, "And... Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette." Upon hearing his full name, the French boy's eyes widened like saucers, his cheeks flushing as he nearly tackled Alex off of the broken chair he sat on. 

Holding the nervously laughing boy in his arms, Laf turned to his friends, almost teary-eyed. "Can we keep him?!" Everyone laughed in response, a light sound. Enjoyment.

"Alright, then. Alexander Hamilton, you are officially a member of the Revolutionary Set, willingly or not," John stated, still smirking.

Alex shrugged as Lafayette let go of him, cheering along with the other two. He turned to the French boy, tilting his head.  
"That said.. Marquis?" Lafayette shrugged in response, muttered something about family traditions, cheeks flushing. The group laughed good-naturedly, Hercules slapping Laf on the back to reassure him that all was fine.

To Alex, it looked like it hurt, but upon seeing Laf's flushing smile, Herc's booming laugh surrounding the room, and feeling John lay a hand on his shoulder, Alexander couldn't help but erupt into even harder laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) i don't know what i'm doing  
> 2.) i'm sorry for the memes it only gets worse


End file.
